


A Lady's Guide To Love And Murder

by Leni



Category: A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder - Lutvak/Freedman
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 06:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leni/pseuds/Leni
Summary: 100 (or 200) words at a time. Drabbles told from the POV of the ladies.Sibella/Monty/Phoebe as an endgame.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New fandom. Late to the party, but I'm in love. Lol.

How darling. How absolutely sweet. 

Were Monty's news supposed to overwhelm her?

Ninth in line. _Ninth!_ A pipe dream already buried by his mother's past shame. Perhaps enough for a decent post, if Monty might dare to press his new relatives for that much.

A sweet man, her Monty, but not one to reach too high. 

Still, D'Ysquith blood or not, he remained her favorite among men. 

Once she became Mrs. Holland, and her path crossed the nobility, she would strive to put a kind word on Monty's behalf in the earl's ear. 

It was the least she could do.


	2. reform

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A double drabble. Because Lady Hyacinth wouldn't be gainsaid.

"You look pale, my girl," said her aunt, singling out Phoebe from among her coterie of attendants. "What say you of coming along to India? It'd give you something to do, rather than languish around and weep for your foolish brother."

"Henry wasn't-!"

"Bah. May he rest in peace, and all that balderdash."

"Aunt Hyacinth!"

"What a child you are." Her aunt tutted. "Come anyway."

"I thank you for the invitation, but-"

"Have you no interest in the world outside your doors, then?" The words prompted censorious glances from her aunt's sycophants. "The plight of the poor, the great reform that will improve our country?"

Phoebe had no interest in empty gestures or society's emptier flattery. She didn't dare voice her opinion here. "I fear I'd be of little help, Aunt."

"Bah. Useless, you are. And my own niece! Alas. I'll still keep an eye on you; I can at least do that."

Flushing more in irritation than embarrassment, Phoebe said her goodbyes. She didn't share her doubts over her aunt's destination. Should the great lady be lost to the unrest in Dubai... Well, Phoebe would make sure to summon a few proper tears. 

She could at least do that.


	3. desk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, this is set before Phoebe proposes to Monty.

The well of her tears had run dry. Embers of anger surged instead. 

How dare he!

Her own brother!

Phoebe stared at the damning letters. Her brother's legacy. His reputation. Everything at risk, should a servant have peeked into his desk. 

Was she glad Caroline had left the task to her!

Not that her sister-in-law would have minded Henry's indiscretions. Men were guilty by nature. Even that he hadn't chosen other women wasn't unheard of. 

But to leave proof practically in the open!

"Oh, Henry."

He'd have been discovered for sure.

It broke her heart, but... Better dead than disgraced.


	4. salad

What a miserable dinner. 

Phoebe swallowed another mouthful of roasted lamb, barely registering the flavor. She should never had mentioned her hopes of marriage. 

"Nonsense!" Aunt Eugenia motioned for another serving of salad, though the dish barely deserved the name as it drowned in croutons and bacon. "I remember Isobel, a chit even sillier than you. He'll come to a bad end, Phoebe. Blood tells."

"Henry liked him."

"Hmph. Henry liked many a people he shouldn't have."

"I like him," Phoebe insisted. 

"And you'll marry him, no doubt. Fine. Ruin your life." The thin lips twisted with scorn. "Silly girl."


	5. rotten

"My dear," said her husband, with a vague expression that told of rotten fruit under his nose. He did prefer her daring and liveliness. "Are you unwell?"

Sibella pulled the covers a little higher, pursing her lips into a pretty pout. "Just the headache, Mr. Holland. A trifle, I promise."

"I suppose you have reason. Your visit to Highhurst had such a regrettable end." He patted her hand. "My sympathies, darling."

The earl's passing made a convenient excuse for her malady, when Monty's upcoming wedding was the cause. 

"Exactly, Mr. Holland," she said sweetly. "I'm so lucky that you understand."


	6. resolution

Sarah looked near tears. "But, milady... That woman!"

Phoebe couldn't bear her maid's disapproval on top of her own qualms. "I gave you an order, Sarah," she snapped. "Make sure that Mrs. Holland - and only Mrs. Holland! - receives that note."

The girl curtsied and fled.

Married for less than a week, and the fate of the earldom weighed on her shoulders. See to what lengths she was going to save the D'Ysquith name! Her resolution was even greater than when she'd stormed Monty's study to propose marriage.

The Earl of Highhurst would not die a felon. 

She wouldn't allow it.


	7. suspect

Her decimated family was useless, the D'Ysquith name barely enough to grant Monty a comfortable imprisonment. 

Society was happy to watch him hang. 

Without proof of her husband's innocence, they said, all false sympathy, it was a most suspect situation. People who had toasted Monty's ascendancy now snickered at his disgrace.

It galled Phoebe to be reduced to a single ally.

A most detestable one. 

"Good evening, Mrs. Holland," she greeted her husband's lover, waving the waiter away. In their private room, the other woman allowed herself to look as distressed as Phoebe felt. "Thank you for accepting my invitation."


	8. permanent

Phoebe glared into her mirror. However, accusing her reflection of cowardice was foolery.

Her hands were tied. 

Let Monty be hanged, or write this damning letter and trust that horrible woman to keep her side of their bargain. The first would leave her open to society's ridicule. Her scandalously short mourning period for Henry would have earned her a newer, longer one. She, widow to an executed murderer? No. The gossip would never die. 

Which left Sibella Holland as a permanent fixture in her life. 

"Sarah, fresh ink," she ordered curtly, resigning herself. "At once. Before I lose my nerve."


	9. veil

Phoebe could barely recognize her aunt through the heavy black veil. "Oh, Aunt Ginnie," she sighed, the affectionate name slipping though her lips before she recalled that the older lady despised such childish antics. "Are you well?"

"Not at all." The dowager countess gave a loud sniff. "Come to crow about your victory? A countess can show her true colors, after all."

Phoebe reeled back. "Aunt?"

"You keep the game up. Fine." Her hands wrapped around Phoebe's wrists. "Congratulate yourself. You wrangled your earl to safety, after all. I applaud you." 

Phoebe shook her head, tearing up. 

Lady Eugenia released her with a laugh. "Enjoy the title. A little more blood won't have tarnished it further."

"Monty didn't kill Uncle," Phoebe protested, finding her courage. 

"Oh, I know. That boy resembled a fish on land. No one's that good an actor. Didn't tell him of your plan, did you? Smart, that. Men always ruin things."

"I certainly didn't-!"

"Hush, girl. You're safe here."

"I..." Phoebe stared uncomprehending. "Wait. What?"

Lady Eugenia gave a deep, horribly satisfied chuckle. "My Adalbert was the child of a third son. Did you never wonder how he rose to become earl, all those years ago?"


	10. fit

Phoebe counted to ten in her head, clutching furiously the thin tome she'd picked right before Mrs. Holland entered the bookstore. 

Thousands of women crossed ways with their husband's mistress, and their pride didn't suffer for not slapping the horrible woman, or dissolving into fits of tears. 

"Lady D'Ysquith!" 

Phoebe's maid gasped, affronted. 

Phoebe gave a minute shake of her head. There were debts to repay. "Mrs. Holland," she said, cold to her own ears, but friendly enough to the strangers in the room, "what a coincidence."

Sibella eyed her with equal distrust. 

Not a planned meeting, then. 

How unlucky.


	11. poetry

"A poetry club?"

Sibella nodded, discarding another pair of awful earrings. Her first visit to Monty's estate must be perfect. "The beginning of one, anyway. Lady D'Ysquith and I share a fondness for underappreciated works."

"Doubtless."

Her husband's dry tone made Sibella glance up, but he looked unperturbed. "I'll persuade the countess to invite us to her parties," she offered.

"My thanks, dearest." He made a little bow. "Your concern over my connections is touching."

Sibella smiled. "We're lucky to have this chance."

He interrupted her scrutiny of her reflection, tilting her chin up for a quick kiss. "Lucky indeed."


	12. sweat

Monty's eyes were terrified.

"Monty, darling. You're so early!" Phoebe offered her cheek for a kiss, taking note of his nervous stiffness. "You remember Mrs. Holland, of course?"

In a cold sweat, Monty shook his head.

"No? We met here, when Uncle.... Well. _That_ day."

Monty smiled sickly. "Then it's so, love." He looked dazed even as he bowed toward Sibella. "Mrs. Holland, a pleasure."

"Stay with us?"

His head shook in alarm. "I wouldn't dare," he said, most sincerely. "I just remembered, um. Unfinished business - must leave - so sorry!"

Alone again, the women glanced at each other.

And laughed.


	13. valid

Monty's gaze jumped from one woman to the other, struck speechless at their closeness. He cleared his throat, but all words were still cowering into the bottom of his stomach. 

Instead he gestured weakly between the two. 

"Yes," said Sibella. 

Monty made a strangled noise. 

Phoebe took pity on him. "Aren't you happy, my love?"

"Aren't _you_ angry?" he squeaked. 

It was a valid question. 

Phoebe and Sibella silently decided to spare him the realization that their anger would have meant his death. 

Sibella smiled reassuringly. "Of course not."

"Not anymore," Phoebe amended, but her smile was just as bright.


	14. sense

High society had raised their collective eyebrows at an unknown becoming bosom friends with the young Countess of Highhurst, but they'd admitted Mrs. Holland into their midst once she'd evidenced her modesty and good sense.

Her fondness of cards, and the indulgent husband covering her debts, might have been a factor. Perhaps.

"They adore you," said Phoebe, giggling behind her fan. She gave a discrete nod toward the knot of young men around Sibella's husband, each hoping for a formal introduction. "If they knew the truth..."

Sibella responded with a bright, confident smile. "I _am_ adorable. No other truth matters."


	15. set

"My dearest Phoebe," purred Sibella. "Please say you'll rescue me from this soulless wretch."

The wretch flashed a smile of white teeth. 

"He insists on dancing another set-" Sibella shook her head "-and when I'm wearing new slippers!"

"Disgraceful."

"Will you lure him away? I know you frown on husbands and wives spending too much time together in company, but - For me?"

Phoebe giggled. "Worry not, my dear. I'll send him on an errand. A plate of biscuits, perhaps?"

Before Sibella could demur, Phoebe and Monty exchanged a glance. He bowed. "I'm at your disposal, ladies. Be just a moment."


	16. mayor

Sibella started nibbling on a fourth marzipan.

Phoebe arched her brows at the deviation from routine. Even the most tempting desserts couldn't overcome Sibella's determination never to lose her figure. "What's the matter, dear?"

Sibella shot to her feet, and started pacing. "Lionel knows. I know he does. He must know by now, mustn't he?"

Phoebe considered it. "Men can be quite oblivious. Just look at Monty."

"Mayor of Obliviousness," Sibella agreed fondly, then she bit her lower lip. "But Lionel...."

Sibella's husband was older, and significantly more experienced. 

"Even if he knows," Phoebe promised, "we'll take care of it."


	17. formal

The music at an end, Phoebe inclined her head toward her dance partner. 

Lionel Holland bowed back, and offered his arm to escort her back to her seat. "Madam, if I may."

"Certainly." Phoebe took advantage of the formal gesture to keep searching for any similarity between him and Monty. With both men enamoured of Sibella, they must have something in common. "Do you fish, Mr. Holland?"

Her inquisitiveness didn't seem to surprise him. "No, my lady."

"Sail, perhaps?"

"I must disappoint her ladyship."

"Enjoy a game of croquet?"

"Occassionally."

Monty detested croquet.

Phoebe sighed and changed tracks. "Then you must attend our summer party," she said, already aware of what his answer would be. 

Mr. Holland shook his head. "Business calls me abroad, milady. However," he continued placidly, "I'm sure you'll enjoy my wife's company."

Phoebe detected amusement in the words. 

After a moment, she gave a little laugh. A spouse in the know recognized another. "Sibella is my dear friend. I thank you for not stealing her away for your trip."

His smile resided in his eyes. "I wouldn't dream to deprive you."

Phoebe laughed again. 

There was her answer. 

Deep down, neither man cared much about rules.


	18. sailor

"This is mine," Monty breathed, awed at the view before him. The sun reflected on the frozen lake, almost as far as the eye could see. The bare branches promised colorful banks come spring. "Beautiful, _and all mine_."

Overcome, he claimed kisses from his companions.

Sibella laughed at Monty's enthusiastic reaction. "You'll make such a dashing sailor," she teased. "Even if you can't swim."

Monty pouted, prompting more laughter.

From his other side, Phoebe squeezed his hand. "Learning is child's play, love. In the meanwhile, we can skate on it later."

Monty considered the suggestion. "I'll test the ice first."


	19. corn

In the year since Monty's release, gossip surrounded the D'Ysquith household. There had been attempts to join the earl's name to a married lady of his acquaintance. Long, close acquaintance, people would whisper. 

Those whispers had withered under Lady D'Ysquith's disdain. 

Now the restless busybodies were spreading a new tale. 

Sibella speared a grain of corn with unusual viciousness. "It's nonsense, of course," she hissed, teeth gritted together. 

Phoebe nodded through her own disgruntlement. "Utter poppycock."

"Monty would never!"

"And with an actress!"

Both wrinkled their noses. 

"How could he, anyway?" Phoebe added reasonably. "Where would he find the time?"


	20. bedroom

Sibella opened her eyes to the bright blue that was Phoebe's favorite color. "Oh, dear," she said, pushing a few strands of hair away from her face. "I've overslept again."

"Good morning, miss."

Into the master bedroom came Sarah's small figure, bearing a tray laden with diced fruits and a steaming cup.

Sibella promised herself to at least have a few bites of green apples. The D'Ysquith orchard rendered delicious samples every year. 

"Milady has told the guests that you are indisposed." Sarah bobbed a curtsey after arranging the tray on Sibella's lap. "I'm to help you into a dress, when you're willing to join the others."

Sibella nodded sleepily, too tempted by the sweet cacao scent to care about clothes. Oh, a little sugar wouldn't hurt. "Bring something from my room. Anything will do."

Once, she'd have needed to specify the outfit, less Phoebe's maid brought something unsuitable in silent protest.

Isobel's birth, however, had changed the girl's tune. 

Being a friend to her mistress through the awkward last months of pregnancy, as well as insurance that Monty didn't stray to an unknown quantity, had finally earned Sarah's approval. 

"Yes, miss." Sarah curtsied again, all smiles. "As you wish."


	21. motif

Sibella eyed the pink satin. "There's a pretty dress here, don't you think?"

"The color becomes you," Phoebe agreed, but frowned as she inspected the embroidered motif. "Rosebuds. Don't you already own a similar one, my dear?"

Sibella squinted. "Ah, right. I'd forgotten." She gave Phoebe a distracted kiss of thanks, uncaring of the other dozen eyes in the shop. 

Affection among women was indulged, and expected between friends as close as Lady D'Ysquith and Mrs. Holland. 

Phoebe tugged on her hand, not bothering to release it even after Sibella followed along. "What about this? It'll look divine on you."


	22. sector

Sibella woke to high-pitched wailing. 

"Urgh." Monty and Phoebe kept adding to their family, yet she was the lighter sleeper among them. Unfair. "Come on," she grumbled, pinching the nearest body.

Monty rolled away. 

Phoebe snored on. 

"Fine." Disgruntled, Sibella rose and tugged on Monty's robe. "I'm choosing your new nursemaid, though."

The fashionable sector of society would be aghast at her bedraggled appearance. Their jaws would then drop down at her experienced handling of the newborn. 

"I'm doing this because you're my favorite," she informed little Sybil, just like she'd tell Isobel or Florence. "Just don't tell your sisters."


	23. terrace

Phoebe rubbed her bare arms, unsurprised that the windy weather had driven other guests from the terrace. "Sibella, darling," she called out to her best friend, "come back inside. You mustn't catch a cold."

Sibella turned around, her eyes huge in a pale face. 

Concerned, Phoebe rushed forward. "What is it, love?"

"The noise. The smells." Sibella swayed a little, as if nauseated. "I couldn't possibly return in there."

"Must be the babe," Phoebe muttered, passing an arm around the other woman's waist. She was glad for the wisdom of her five pregnancies, which enabled her to advise Sibella sensibly through her first. "I was the same with Izzie. Come, dear. You'll set up in our room, and I'll ask Sarah to make some tea. That used to help."

"Monty would massage your feet, too," Sibella remembered, lips curling into a faint smile. 

Monty was such a wonderful father. 

"Oh, that was dreadful," Phoebe confided. "But he told the most ridiculous stories while he went at it. Such a dear. I'll send him up, then." She kissed Sibella's cheek. "Laughter will do wonders for you."

"Thank you, Pheebs." Sibella leaned into her. "I don't know what I'd do without you."


	24. relevance

"Adalbert, I think," said her husband. "A strong name."

Also a dig against a certain earl whose marriage had produced three girls, and whose countess' health forbade sons. 

There wouldn't be another Adalbert D'Ysquith, Earl of Highhurst. 

Sibella didn't mention the man's unlucky fate. Her husband's true thoughts had been an enigma for too long, and her curiosity burned. "So, Mr. Holland, you have no complaints then?"

He chuckled. "If I do or don't, would it have any relevance?" He gave the baby's cheek an approving pat. "I have my heir. After nine years, my dear, I appreciate that much."


	25. license

"I'll have words with your husband," Phoebe threatened. "Choosing such a moniker. It should be a crime!"

Hefting baby Adalbert closer to her chest, Sibella shrugged. "He's been good otherwise."

"Being a decent person isn't a license to mock our-" Phoebe closed her mouth at the expression on Sibella's face. "Oh well, I see you've decided to indulge him."

"He's fond of the boy. That's all I need."

"You're exhausted, so I won't insist." Phoebe tickled the boy's pointy nose, so like her own daughters'. "But if you have any complaints, my darling Addie, don't hesitate to call Auntie Pheebs."


	26. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it was fun to visit this world. I hope you enjoyed the story. :)

The picture is a favorite keepsake of their childhood. 

Isobel remembers her mother's grin as she announced a surprise, and her father's laughter as a camera was revealed.

Florence remembers the pretty dresses Aunt Sibella gifted them. Hers had a huge pink bow, a color that would remain her favorite. 

Sybil thinks she remembers ice cream, and her sisters agree that their father loved to take them out on special occasions. A family portrait would have counted. 

Adalbert remembers nothing, as he's the baby in his godmother's arms. 

He knows he was loved, though. 

The details don't matter in comparison.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome.


End file.
